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Hello, New York! – Part 03

The door opened slowly, and suddenly, the radio boomed as if coming from the depths of the earth. Startled by the sound, Kazuya shut his eyes briefly.

The square room, larger than the kitchen, had walls draped in floral fabric and a worn wooden floor. It featured a delicate swivel chair with legs resembling bird claws holding eggs, as well as a lovely pink couch. Apart from the round street-facing window and a small fireplace, all walls were lined with bookshelves crammed with books.

Radios of various designs—black, white, wooden, square, oval—rested on the shelves, broadcasting in languages from around the globe simultaneously.

Silver hair, resembling the Milky Way flowing through the night sky, cascaded from the swivel chair to the floor, forming gentle swirls. Red, purple, and deep pink potpourri grains were scattered around. In the silver light, the potpourri grains and sounds from the radio intertwined, performing a forbidden dance.

With a sense of relief, Kazuya gazed down at the owner of the silver hair.

Like a meticulously crafted porcelain doll, she possessed a slender and graceful figure, unbelievably petite. Emerald green eyes, quiet as ancient creatures, gleamed on her pale face, bearing the wisdom of a centenarian. A small, well-shaped nose and glossy, cherry lips completed her enchanting visage.

Her beauty eclipsed all else on earth, shrouded in a mysterious aura of fate and tragedy.

She wore a deep black velvet dress, trimmed with crimson French lace. The red frills on her chest stirred like waves in the night, and the scarlet roses at the hem shimmered magically. Her headdress, veiling her silver hair, sparkled with a myriad of colors. Her pitifully slender and dainty legs were encased in soft silk stockings. Black enamel shoes, adorned with lavender ornaments, gleamed darkly.

Her pale arms and legs were sprawled out, and on her knees rested books so heavy it seemed like some kind of torture method. She listened to multiple radio broadcasts simultaneously, spanning languages from English and French to German, Chinese, and even jazz music. Scanning books fanned out on the floor, she was an enigmatic and ageless presence, resembling both a girl and an old woman, and devilishly beautiful.

Victorique de Blois.

Was the sweet scent in the air from the scattered potpourri on the floor?

Victorique, who had recently fled across the vast Pacific to New York, possessed an otherworldly beauty that oozed like the waters of a fountain at night.

Numerous books and radios linked with her silver tendrils, creating the impression of a single living entity, a futuristic android of some sorts.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said in a low raspy voice, not even sparing Kazuya a glance.

Kazuya smiled. “Yup, it’s me.”

“Hmm.”

“You really love radios, don’t you? I can’t believe you’re listening to so many at once.”

“Hmph,” she snorted petulantly. Her green eyes dimmed, as if lost in a sweet dream at night. “And you’re off covering gang wars again? What a waste of energy for you and your partner Nico. Imagine working hard for mundane things like rent, food, and electricity bills. Hahaha.”

Kazuya frowned, then turned off the radios one by one. “Now look here, Victorique. I can’t believe you’re acting so smug and disgusted like it’s none of your problem. You should be at the Gray Wolf Detective Agency by now, but it’s almost noon, and you’re still here. I had a bad feeling so I came to check on you, only to find you slacking off. Wait…” He paused, curious. “How do you even know that Nico and I were covering the Mafia?”

“Hmph. Elementary.” Victorique finally met his gaze with a blank expression. Her small nose flared with pride. She brought a golden, lizard-shaped pipe to her lips and took a puff. “My Wellspring of Wisdom told me.”

“Oh, yeah… that thing. So pretentious. You haven’t changed a bit.”

Ignoring his remark, Victorique pressed on, “You, a humorless and unremarkable pumpkin head, wouldn’t set foot in Little Italy for anything other than work. You and the festive Italian district are like water and oil, incompatible. Yet this morning, you’re carrying a mound of Italian-style cupcakes that are only sold in that area. And it seems there’s a bloodstain on the knee of the flannel work pants that you care so much about. You probably knelt at the scene gathering information and ended up staining it like an idiot.”

“Ah, you’re right! I have to get rid of the stain quickly or it’ll set! I only have this and one more pair.”

Kazuya panicked, then suddenly regained his composure, cautiously eyeing the terrifyingly beautiful and petite woman.

Victorique’s ice-cold face softened ever so slightly as he watched her attendant, but the moment their eyes met, she quickly averted her gaze.

Kazuya cocked his head and smiled. “Well, anyway. Here you go. As you have guessed, they’re from Little Italy. Strawberry cupcakes, Florida orange flavor, mocha, vanilla, lemon cream. Oh, and the light green one is pistachio. It’s a new flavor, so they threw it in as a bonus.”

“Hmph. Great job, I suppose. Bring them over here right away.”

“Do you ever consider getting up to fetch things yourself, or is moving even a little not an option? Oh, I guess not. All right, got it. Little Queen of Africa,” Kazuya grumbled with a playful grin, then stacked the cupcakes on the red, diamond-shaped table.

Victorique spun her chair around and swiftly snatched one from the mound of cupcakes with the agility of a cat. She brought it to her mouth and started munching.

Chew, chew.

Chew, chew.

Chew…

Still eating. Heartily.

Kazuya retrieved a cotton handkerchief from his breast pocket and gently wiped Victorique’s cheeks, still chubby despite having grown up by now. She frowned in annoyance but continued eating without protest. The pile of cupcakes kept dwindling.

“In the heart of the New World, that is, New York, one cannot help but acknowledge the existence of two worlds,” Victorique said in a pompous tone as she devoured the last cupcake.

Meanwhile, Kazuya boiled water in the kitchen, brewed tea, poured it into teacups with red flower and green bird patterns, then returned with his back straight, offering it to the diminutive queen before him.

“What was that again?”

“It’s the world of daytime and the world of nighttime,” Victorique said. “That is to say, the surface economy controlled by politicians and businessmen, and the underground economy dominated by the Mafia.”

“Oh, yeah… Here’s your tea.”

“My gratitude. H-Hot.”

Victorique’s green eyes blinked in surprise, and she stared at the teacup as if it were her archenemy. Then, she straightened herself proudly.

“It’s also a life-and-death struggle between the world of old immigrants and the world of new immigrants who arrived after the storm.”

“Sorry to interrupt your story, Victorique, but is it going to be… long…?”

Victorique nodded emphatically. “Absolutely! Long as the Yellow River in China, the Ganges in India, the flow of history that spans continents! Compared to that puny East River you cross every day, meandering like a snake’s offspring along the right side of tiny New York, it’s incomparably looong!”

Victorique theatrically spread her chubby hands in front of her chest, her cherry lips wide open, and looked straight at Kazuya. Her emerald green eyes briefly sparkled like an ancient lake, hinting at some emotion.

Kazuya, unknowingly captivated, blushed and looked away. “Um, I have to get back to the office soon. So, uh…”

“Shut up and listen to my story. Or else, well…”

“Or else what? P-Please don’t give me that look, Victorique.”

“Or I’m done with you!”

“Huh? Done with me? Are you five? Do you even know how old you are, the continent’s biggest bossy pants? F-Fine, fine, I get it. So, uh, I’ll just sit… Oh, but there’s only your chair and this couch in this room, so I guess I’ll just stand in front of the bookshelf or something and, uhh, listen for a bit. I swear, you’re such a…” Kazuya was genuinely at a loss.

The fireplace under the round window was burning. The books on the shelf seemed to be listening attentively to kill time. It was cold outside, but the room was pleasantly warm. Victorique’s cheeks glowed rosy.